


Infortunatus and the Missing Pilum

by Aibhilin



Category: Astérix le Gaulois | Asterix the Gaul & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fae, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Gift Fic, Happy Ending, Light-Hearted, Puns & Word Play, Roman Grievances with the Gauls go way back, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, better tagging it though just to be sure, could be canon after all magic carpets are canon too, is it an alternate universe though?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28132317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aibhilin/pseuds/Aibhilin
Summary: or: Asterix and the Mysterious Disappearance of Getafix' Favourite Cauldron (but that was too long of a title, so Infortunatus and the Missing Pilum it is).Story extract:“The cauldron… for my pilum?” he asks and gets a smirk in return.“How far are you willing to go, soldier, for that pilum?” they ask, tantalizingly holding the mental image of the pilum in Infortunatus’ hands in front of him like one does a carrot on a stick.
Relationships: Abraracourcix | Vitalstatistix/Bonnemine | Impedimenta, Astérix | Asterix & Abraracourcix | Vitalstatistix, Astérix | Asterix & Idéfix | Dogmatix, Astérix | Asterix & Idéfix | Dogmatix & Obélix | Obelix, Astérix | Asterix & Obélix | Obelix, Astérix | Asterix & Original Character(s), Astérix | Asterix & Panoramix | Getafix, Fae & Original Character(s), Idéfix | Dogmatix & Obélix | Obelix, Obélix | Obelix & Original Character(s), Panoramix | Getafix & Original Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 11
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	1. What's in a name?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BookGirlFan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookGirlFan/gifts).



> Sooooooo, my brain has seen these prompts from my Yuletide-gift-receiver:
> 
> \- A mystery that Asterix and/or Obelix have to solve!
> 
> \- Asterix runs out of magic potion, and they have to deal with that. Maybe they’re just in the village, maybe they’re stranded somewhere. Is it a problem, or is it an excuse for Obelix to get to fight all the Romans?
> 
> ... and it decided to mix them up a little bit, mash things around a little and oh, there's magic too, now, how about that?
> 
> Get comfortable in your seat, grab yourselves some cookies and a cuppa cocoa or some other beverage you like, dear readers and have fun reading!
> 
> I especially hope you enjoy this gift fic of mine, dear BookGirlFan - it is, after all, my Yuletide present for you! ;)

_Fiat lux!_

_(May there be light!)_

* * *

It is quiet in the woods surrounding the Gallic village that we all know so well. Quiet and peaceful. The woods are a place of tranquillity in the middle of a raging storming world out there and wild boars are lounging peacefully in the meadows, eating grass and devouring plants as they like.

There’s not a thing in the world disturbing the peace that surrounds the palisades around the village and there’s birds in the trees trilling in joy and happiness.

As we all know, four Roman camps surround the well-known village of indomitable Gauls, Totorum, Aquarium, Laudanum and Compendium. These four camps are manned by the most fearless and bravest warriors that the Roman Empire has to offer, for their job is not an easy one.

The ground starts trembling slightly underneath the boars’ paws and their ears twitch this way and that in irritation.

Great, yet another disturbance of the day, is it?

Their head swivels left and right, ascertaining where the trembling is coming from, before-

All of a sudden, the peace and quiet is quite forcefully destroyed by the Gauls that are rushing through the forest as one massive body of people closing in on their goal.

Eyes ahead, weapons swinging in their arms, hands and between some teeth, the mass of people are swiftly approaching one of the surrounding camps with remarkable enthusiasm.

The cries and shouts and joyful cheering can be heard from afar and oh- the soldiers in the Roman camp that’s been chosen as this day’s entertainment location are trembling in their sandals already.

One of the guards stationed just outside the garrison is holding his shaking pilum close to his chest, his metallic uniform chattering in fright as well at the mere sight of so many joyous Gauls heading straight towards them. His name is Infortunatus and that day really does live up to the expectations put forward by his name alone.

Leading the mob of Gauls is that fat one, obviously trying to hold the others back somewhat, his arms reaching out to both sides. What for, the guards can only guess at, until they hear him shout, “LEMME AT THEM, _LEMME AT THEM,_ YOU GOT TO HIT THEM LAST TIME, I DIDN’T GET HALF AS MANY, LEMME AT THEM-!!!” and they can clearly see him only attempting to hold them back, not slowing down the massive crowd of bodies behind him in the least.

The guard besides him gulps and rightens his shield to hide behind it in fear, glancing over it to see how far the Gauls have advanced yet. It’s like an accident waiting to happen and the two know how this ends-

And it does end how it usually ends: with the Romans having to rebuild what destruction the Gauls have left behind in their wake.

The two don’t get to think much more on the matter, although they are marginally calmer when their centurion, Gratuitus, is coming forward, exiting the camp along with the rest of the army to meet the foe head-on. Infortunatus is quietly making his peace with the matter of the Gauls mowing right through them as though they’re made of papyrus.

Gratuitus is raising his sword, opens his mouth to shout “Att-“ when the Gaul in front – the fat one, the one that’s been trying to hold the others back for a bit – opens his own mouth and abandons the useless gesture to plunge right into the fray headlong and shout “ATTACK!!!!!”

The man is smiling – _gleefully smiling_ – as he mows through the army of Roman soldiers, can one believe that?

Infortunatus is simply happy not to land in the trench for once.

He’d like to keep his uniform at least somewhat presentable, this time around, and hopes for a quick knockout that might send him to land face first in the grass. Grass stains are preferable to horse excrements, in his humble opinion.

Well.

The fight ends just like the guards have foreseen it in the beginning.

The camp is somewhat halfway still left standing – the Southern area of the camp has taken extensive damage – as the entry area is wont to do during any such attack – but bits and pieces from the Northern area can still be salvaged and some of the tents are not in as many pieces as the palisades are in, so there’s that. The uniform of the other guard is found in the centurion’s tent and Infortunatus’ uniform has been damaged half as much as it usually is due to him diligently watching out for it and carefully manoeuvring around attacks as best as he could.

His pilum’s nowhere to be found, though, so he bites the bullet and turns to venture out into the woods. His feet are shaking at the thought, his knees knocking together because there he could very well come upon them again, upon those barbarians. Those freaks. Those _Gauls_.

Well.

If he’s quiet enough, maybe they don’t notice him?

Or maybe he can pretend to be a wild animal, a boar, maybe- no wait, the Gauls eat those, don’t they? That’d just make him end up on tonight’s menu, then?

No, thank you very much, Infortunatus has better things to do with his life.

“Pilum, pilum… a spear can’t be this hard to find, can it?” he mutters to himself as he steps through the underbrush, attempting (but failing) not to make too much noise. For good measure, he’s even gone so far as to prop a pile of green moss on his head, so as to better blend in with his surroundings. Heck, even his clothing is hiding him better by now – he’s covered from head to toe in dirt from the attack, never mind the grass stains that he can already see setting in his tunic underneath the uniform in some places.

The Gauls have to have had their fun with the Romans, they have to have exhausted their energy resources by now, right?

They won’t annoy the single, random Roman soldier who’s stumbled into their domain, right?

They won’t stoop so low as to punch him twice in one day, will they?

That wouldn’t be gentlemanly at all of them.

He’s safe here, right?

_Right?_

…

Oh, who is he kidding?

With a grimace, he’s bravely trekking on, hoping against what his memories and previous experiences tell him that the Gauls may not feel in the right mood to hit him again that day.

In any case, there’s more important stuff to worry about at that point. Namely, his pilum.

That’s the flight path his colleague has told him the spear had gone in, right?

Furrowing his brows, he tries but fails to figure out if he’s still on the right track. Looking back at where he knows the camp is located brings him no further in his attempts at unearthing whether or not the spear might be nearby. Forlornly, he sighs and almost gives it up as a useless cause – trying to unearth the pilum’s whereabouts after such a brutal attack is a hopeless endeavour, isn’t it? His shoulders fall and, miserable, he argues with himself about the pros and cons of keeping up his search.

If he doesn’t find it, the money for the replacement would come out of his own salary – dumb insurance policies and their dumb caveats and terms and conditions for replacements – so he has to at least _try_. He’ll dedicate today and tomorrow to finding that spear and if it doesn’t get found in a week’s time, then he’ll get out his money and pay for a replacement. That sounds reasonable to him.

Yes.

Good.

Plan formed, he nods to himself and ambles on.

There’s also that inspection to consider that’ll be happening in two weeks’ time – the newbie inspector that’ll see to their fitness and improvements made in the time since their last inspection at that point won’t know what hit him as soon as he meets the Gauls they keep running up against – so a week’s time for the search and then another week’s time until that replacement would be delivered to them should suffice for the camp not to lose any standing caused by a single soldier not having their pilum ready for battle.

They have a reputation to uphold, after all – Gaulish attacks notwithstanding, they are upstanding soldiers and shall prove their worth to the inspector!

Great.

More stuff to consider. Those Gaulish attacks really do cause them more trouble than they are worth.

Idly, Infortunatus wonders what set the Gauls off this time around. Usually, something has to happen first, to make them attack. They don’t attack on their own, randomly. No. Most of the time, they have a motive to consider or a catalyst that’s giving them fuel to go up against their surrounding camps’ armies.

With his foot he hits a spot in the ground that he overlooked earlier and it sinks in farther than he expected. Trying to pull his foot back out, the soldier looks down to the brown slurpy mass that it’s stuck in – his sandals are another loss to consider, now, awesome – and tries again to pull it out.

However, his foot stubbornly refuses to be unearthed from the mass of green that’s in the hole and the brown slurpy dirt-filled watery _substance_ that’s oh-so-gross and clinging to his foot is not calming his nerves, in the least.

Fortunately, there’s a nice little mound close by that he can attempt to leverage himself with and pull his foot out of that spot of trouble.

Not looking where he is putting his hand but rather down at his foot again to see it sink in a little bit more the more he hesitates, he’s setting down his hand into the middle of the flowery circle that’s on said small mound of earth and pushes against the unyielding earth, hard.

Maybe he could do it with a little reinforcing cheer? Glancing around quickly, to the left, the right, then behind himself for good measure, he listens closely for anything out of the ordinary – but no. The Gauls are supposedly celebrating their win with a banquet, he supposes, having heard of that happening a lot whenever they’ve won another battle or something else as disquieting.

His shoulders fall, his heartbeat slows a little at the information that his brain happily provides him with. Good. Then he can cheer himself on to his heart’s content, right?

“Yo-hop!” he mutters quietly, wary of having overheard a noise and paranoid enough not to trust his senses to notice anyone lurking in the shadows of the forest around him – there could be Gauls underfoot, hiding in the forest, waiting for a chance to strike, after all!

And with the muttering, he moves his body and leverages it with the hand on the mound and, this time, the earth is yielding weirdly underneath him and-

There’s lights.

There’s lights exploding around him and his eyes widen and the shout is stuck in his throat and-

He falls over in fright.

This is magic!

This is pagan stuff!

That’s the beastly Gaulish druid doing things to him!

NO! He does NOT want to be magicked to the high heavens, oh Roman Gods, please help him, centurion, help him, he needs _HEL_ -

“You. Foreigner. You have disturbed our silence.”

Uh oh.

Eyes wide, there’s a denial on his lips, his head shaking in a desperate bid for this not to ruin his day further, but he’s not even given room to speak.

The being smiles and he stills in terror.

That’s- that’s not normal. That’s not good.

“How far are you willing to go… for that pilum?”

The-

_Pilum!_

His pilum!

The creepy strange thing knows about his pilum!

He gets the impression that the being smiles, then; no, correction, that’s a smirk in that faceless thing of theirs.

Next, it goes on to say, “There’s a cauldron in the village nearby. Every day it’s full of magic potion. It’s used to brew said potion.”

Point made – the focus is that cauldron and oh, Infortunatus has a baaaaaaad feeling about this, he’s got goosebumps travelling up his spine at the conclusions that his mind sprung to and surely, they won’t ask for that, surely there’s better things than – “I want that cauldron, soldier.”

Oh no.

“Give me a gift, and you’ll get a gift in return.”

That’s.

The pilum.

They know where his pilum went.

Not just that, they know where his pilum is, right now.

“The cauldron… for my pilum?” he asks and gets a smirk in return.

“How far are you willing to go, soldier, for that pilum?” they ask, tantalizingly holding the mental image of the pilum in Infortunatus’ hands in front of him like one does a carrot on a stick.

Gulping, the Roman soldier weighs his options: on one side, there’s the pilum; on the other there are the Gauls and the cauldron.

Oh, dear Roman gods, please help him with what he’s about to set out to do.

His mind’s made up already, there’s nothing for it.

He has to get that cauldron.


	2. The Missing Cauldron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asterix is in an incredibly good mood, having woken up from a wonderful dream about invading a nearby Roman camp to the songs that the birds have trilled at him through the window.
> 
> All in all, it’s turning out to be yet another wonderful day, and that is, of course, when the troubles start up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a chapter with Asterix in it!!! XD  
> Enjoy~

_Et lux in tenebris lucet_

_(Light shines in darkness too)_

* * *

It’s a quiet day in the Gallic village, one like any other, really. They’ve come back from a successful day of Roman-bashing and celebrated that into the night. The next morning, the Gauls inhabiting said village have woken up to a lovely new day with the sun’s rays shining upon them.

One particular Gaulish warrior is ambling through the village, whistling idly to himself.

“Good morning, Asterix!” he hears from his left, and he turns his head and greets the person right back with a good-natured “Good morning, Bacteria!”, waving his hand briefly, as well.

Our hero has a nicely woven basket around his arm, obviously headed to the marketplace as he is, and he’s smiling underneath that moustache of his, making its corners ride up a little.

There’s a light-hearted atmosphere in the air. Spring has arrived early and with it the yearly start of the Roman-bashings, too. One of the most enthusiastic Roman bashers and Asterix’ best friend, Obelix has sequestered himself into that stone pit of his where he’s happily hammering away at the big stones he has to deliver to his clients later on.

Dogmatix is happy too – and Asterix?

Asterix is in an incredibly good mood, having woken up from a wonderful dream about invading a nearby Roman camp to the songs that the birds have trilled at him through the window.

All in all, it’s turning out to be yet another wonderful day, and that is, of course, when the troubles start up.

“The cauldron! Someone has stolen Getafix’ favourite cauldron!” the cry from their druid’s most recently employed assistant alerts Asterix as well as all the other people gathered around the marketplace to the theft. Videonix, the druid’s assistant, has his hands thrown together above his head and he’s gritting his teeth, eyes wild and unfocused and barely looking where he’s running.

Asterix frowns, immediately alert at the sight of the upset man and he reaches out a hand just as Videonix is about to pass him by to halt him in his tracks, while he wonders at what has the man in this much of an uproar. The commotion draws onlookers, naturally, and, so as to do some damage control and mitigate the chaos that could potentially be wrought by the rumours this would no doubt generate, Asterix attempts to calm the situation down somewhat.

“What happened?” he asks and follows that up with “Where is our druid?”

Videonix is, after all, only the druid’s assistant. A trusted employee sent to them by the druids that convene yearly at the sacred gathering place, he is nonetheless an outsider still.

That is the moment when their village druid arrives at the marketplace, regally stepping over to them with big strides, his long beard trailing in the wind a little to the side of him. He looks in control of whatever is going on currently, wise and calm, as is expected of him and that helps diffuse the situation greatly already.

Coming to a stop at the small gathering of people, he looks at the assistant first, before his gaze lands on Asterix.

“One of my cauldrons is missing, Asterix,” he says in an even tone, “It’s a minor annoyance, but let us better meet up with our chief, before we take any hasty actions.” Along with the latter utterance of his, he glances at his assistant – and Asterix has the feeling that this one won’t last long in that position before being kicked out. Asterix lets out a small sigh at that.

Getafix has not had the best luck at finding a proper assistant to his position so far and that bad luck apparently won’t stop keeping its hold over the village anytime soon. Nevertheless, the village needs someone trustworthy to take over the position for when Getafix would inevitably leave them – either on a short journey or his last, may he live for a while longer yet, – and he’d need to find someone to tell the secret to the magic potion to, as well, or that knowledge won’t save them when they are without their wise druid in their midst.

Yet, that is a problem for another time.

“A missing cauldron, you say?” Asterix enquires, walking alongside the druid to the hut of their chief, Vitalstatistix.

“Yes, Asterix. A missing cauldron.” He glances back at his assistant with narrowed eyes. The poor guy is trailing behind them like a kicked puppy, already knowing he most likely shouldn’t have reacted like he did and yet not being able to properly apologise until the matter is being spoken about by their druid. After all, an accusation of theft is not to be made this lightly and should not be thrown about in the marketplace of all possible locations: that would no doubt spur on the local rumour mill like rarely anything else does. It doesn't do to worry the general populace of the village unnecessarily, such matters have to be brought before the chief before being spread about like he'd done.

Nonetheless, there is a more pressing matter to attend to for the time being.

“Let’s see what our chief has to say about that,” the druid adds and ends the conversation here for now.

* * *

Their chief has a lot to say about that, it turns out.

They manage to arrive right as he is dunking his feet into a small basin filled with water for a foot bath, and they try not to bring attention to the fact that Impedimenta keeps referring to him as “Piggy”, valiantly keeping a straight face through the proceedings as though they are deaf to her preferred nicknames for her husband that she is not shy to call him, not even in front of the best warrior of the village, the village druid and his assistant.

“A missing cauldron, you say?” their chief reiterates with a serious mien, eyes narrowed and a tiny wrinkle appearing on his forehead.

“Yes.” Asterix responds, reciprocating with a facial expression that’s at least half as serious as their chief’s.

It’s a wonder no one’s burst out into laughter yet, although had Obelix been present, Asterix knows he’d have done so the moment he’d heard Impedimenta’s nickname for their chief.

( _That one simply never gets old, no matter how many times they’ve heard it yet – it remains a favourite thing of theirs to poke fun at whenever they hear it and they know Impedimenta won’t stop using it anytime soon, too_ )

“Where was the cauldron before it went missing?” Vitalstatistix asks – a remarkably good question, considering they’re trying to reconstruct the goings-on before the cauldron was lost in the first place.

“It was in the shed at the back of my house, together with a few of my other spare cauldrons that I pull out whenever I want to cook soup.” Getafix responds. Certainly, with the way their druid goes through the cauldrons, he’s got to keep track of where to cook what in, Asterix supposes.

An entire cauldron dedicated to cooking soup in? There’s stranger habits to keep.

“Was there anyone other than you or your assistant that had access to the shed?” the chief asks next.

“No.” is the answer he gets for that. “No one other than me or my assistant know where I store my cauldrons when they’re not in use.” A hand goes to the druid’s chin and he begins contemplatively stroking his beard, “Although, of course, if someone were to shadow my movements, they could discern where I keep my spare cauldrons at any point in time, really.”

Asterix’ hand moves to his own chin at that admission and the wings on top of his hat move back and forth, as he considers the situation and mulls over how the theft could have occurred.

“Well. There’s nothing for it. Let’s see the shed for ourselves, so that we may be able to deduce what happened. My shield! I need my shield!” their chief orders in a commanding voice, rising to a stand in the tub, little water drops sploshing this way and that as he moves.

“Impedimenta! A towel! An important investigation is underway!” he belts out, his braids moving as he quickly turns his head to the backroom, then magisterially waits upon his person being attended to.

“Yes, yes, Piggy, here’s your towel.” Impedimenta likewise keeps her nose up high and brings out a woven basket along with the aforementioned towel, going on to say, “And bring me back some eggs and a sack full of flour, I want to bake a cake later for the women’s get-together.”

Suddenly flustered with the unexpected shopping she thrust upon him, his voice takes on a whiny quality as he tries to make her see thing from his perspective, “But Impedimenta, darling, how’ll that look, I can’t just go out with a basket for shopping, I’m the Village Chief-“

The woman narrows her eyes at him when she hears his complaint, then loudly states, “Yes, and as a chief you can go out looking whichever way you want to.”

Lowering her voice threateningly, she adds, “Or do you not want to go out on your shield at all? _I_ can do the shopping on _your_ shield, if that’s what you want.”

* * *

A little while later, Asterix, Getafix and Videonix are accompanied by Vitalstatistix up on his shield, with the basket under his arm, all of the former three smiling obnoxiously, if not outright grinning at nothing in particular, on their way to the druid’s house. Vitalstatistix is visibly annoyed, with a dark mien on his face, fidgeting every now and then and telling them to “Stop laughing, by Toutatis, just think about what’ll that do to my reputation!”

It’s a good thing that the only person they meet on their way to the druid’s house is Obelix, who is delivering one of his menhirs together with Dogmatix, his trusted dog.

There’s nothing for it, the missing cauldron has to be investigated, and Obelix is being informed of the situation as he joins the group, claiming that the one employing him can wait for the menhir, dealing with stones is a patience-demanding sort of job, anyways.

As soon as they arrive at the druid’s house, they are being led towards the back, where a little shed has been added to the house’s backside wall a few years ago, Asterix remembers. Fullautomatix, the village smith, threw a tantrum at the time because “This is no way to store cauldrons or metal of any sort!” but relented when the druid threw him a particularly skeptic glance. Hypocrite that he is, the huge man may know of the best way to store such materials, but the practical application obviously eludes him, if his wife’s constant reprimands are to be trusted.

The shed’s door is leaning against the doorjamb slightly, having been left open in what Asterix surmises was the assistant’s haste to make the news known.

Approaching the door, the Gaulish warrior takes a closer look at it and notices almost immediately that it must have been tampered with – the doorjamb is scratched in places as though someone tried to _force_ it open somehow.

“Asterix! Look!” Obelix gains his attention and when Asterix turns to him, he sees the man pointing at Dogmatix. Their trusted pet has obviously sniffed something out – and when Asterix ventures closer, he can make out tracks in the dirt, potentially leading to where the cauldron has been dragged off to.

Swiftly, he informs both the druid and their village chief, “Getafix! Dogmatix has found something! Obelix and I will take care of the matter and make sure to bring your cauldron back as soon as we can!”

“Good! Asterix, Obelix, you two are the best that the village has to offer!” With that, the two take their leave. “Bring it back soon!” their chief’s speech peters out behind them, unremarked upon when the two warriors hurry after Dogmatix, Obelix’ menhir on his back.

“You think it’s somewhere in the village?” Obelix asks him idly, curious but rather more indifferent to the outcome of this investigation than Asterix is – after all, to him it makes little difference if there’s a cauldron more or less in the village.

Asterix only has time to tell him, “No, I don’t” before Dogmatix rushes right out the front entrance that leads into their village. “I really don’t” he thinks to himself, all the more intent on giving chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it, dear readers?
> 
> I had to cut this gem out of the chapter because I forgot I had Obelix hammering at menhirs at the time:  
> "Solely Obelix cannot help himself and bursts out in laughter every so often, leaning against the doorjamb to help keep himself upright."
> 
> What do you think? Did I do Asterix and Obelix justice so far? :D
> 
> If you liked the chapter - or if you'd like to complain or anything else, - please don't hesitate to leave a comment to let me know? I _adore_ those!
> 
> Thank you very much for reading~!


	3. Terra Incognita

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of this, for a cauldron?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled a bit with this chapter, but I hope you'll like it regardless!  
> Sliiiiiiightly angsty chapter ahead, though I tried to make it as light-hearted as possible. ;)
> 
> Enjoy~

_Errare humanum est_

_(To err is human)_

* * *

He’s lost, is his first thought.

His second is that he’s officially screwed.

That magical being from earlier that day won’t be happy.

Grimacing, Infortunatus glances at the cauldron that he’s got in his hands.

The Roman soldier was convinced that he’d been following the right tracks back to that mound.

Until, that was, the tracks turned out not to have been his own from earlier, but rather from something he’d been dragging behind him.

His pout grows when he realises that, essentially, he’s been walking in a circle for a while now and won’t be getting back to that mound or the magical being anytime soon.

Infortunatus just hopes it knows what “patience” means, although he has an inkling that no, that word’s not at all in the being’s vocabulary.

Breathing rather laboriously from the constant heavy lifting he’s been doing for the past… hours, judging from the sun’s position, he sits down at a jugging out rock he can see nearby.

This, for a pilum?

All of this, for a cauldron?

Putting his face into both hands, he reconsiders his position in the world.

He kind of hopes someone’s figured out he’s missing yet, back at the camp.

(Although he doubts it)

(Romans go missing all the time)

(The area doesn’t lack bandits or Gauls)

Another grimace furtively steals across his face.

So. He’ll live out here then, he supposes? Not the first time he’s lost his way, although he’d hoped he’d improved his track record of getting lost every other day by moving to this remote area.

“A nice little change of pace, Infortunatus!” they’d said back in Rome.

“It’s the countryside! What can you possible miss there?” they’d said, when he’d started to complain about the food.

“Don’t worry, you’ll grow into it! You’ll come to like it soon!” they’d added the first time he’d tried to write back about the Gauls.

That’s apparently been a “known small pest” for ages already, but no one had informed him before he’d moved there, oooh no.

The sorry state of the tents and the camps notwithstanding, he’s been tempted to move back home multiple times so far, yet always refrained.

The Gauls are a more predictable force than his family is.

( _One doesn’t need mortal enemies if one has a family like his to content with, and at least this way he’s got the insurance that he’ll live to see another day and is free to make do with what he has_ )

Heaving a sigh, Infortunatus thinks that it can’t get any worse than this.

Needless to say, rain starts pouring down at him before the thought has fully finished forming in his brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think, dear readers? :D


	4. Lost! Roman Soldier. Reward: A Cauldron.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Join the Roman legion!” they said.
> 
> “It’ll be fun!” they said.
> 
> No one mentioned the freaking Gauls and their freaking strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> XD This chapter was kinda interesting to write!
> 
> Enjoy~

_Luctor et emergo_

_(I struggle and emerge)_

* * *

The sudden downpour has mist start forming and rising up from the earth and the tracks of the cauldron thief disappear faster than if it had stayed sunny.

Asterix curses the weather in his head and is all the more anxious to get to the place that the cauldron has been dragged to and hurries Dogmatix on with a few well-placed gestures and barked-out words of encouragement.

The small dog’s nose remains steadfastly glued to the few tracks that Dogmatix can still make out, but it’s clear their smallest companion struggles to find out where to go after a few more moments.

At a crossing of the paths, before a big tree, the little dog stops to sniff at the ground. It’s obvious that their animal companion has lost the trail. To be honest, it won’t help anyone if they’re wet and soppy from the rain, either, so Asterix gestures to Obelix to run over to them and join them in finding some shelter underneath the tree, as well.

It’s a good thing there’s no lighting strikes hitting the ground so far. At least for the moment, they are safe and will be able to stay drier than if they’d gone on to look for the cauldron in this rain.

Absent-mindedly, Asterix wonders how the cauldron-kidnapping person is faring, then pushes the thought to the side in order to make space for more important matters: such as the question of why the person would steal a cauldron, of all things available in a druid’s house?

The recipe for the magic potion would be more interesting for a thief, certainly?

In the past, there have been no less than half a dozen of independent instances that Asterix can think up that had Getafix instead as the kidnapping victim. He wonders what it is that makes the outcome different, here?

Really, the more Asterix is thinking about the reasons behind the theft, the more he thinks it must not have been a planned theft at all. That becomes all the more apparent, considering that it’s not even the cauldron that Getafix brews his magic potion in. It’s just Getafix’ favourite cauldron, from what he knows. The whole theft is strange, although one thing is for certain: Getafix’ assistant will probably be fired from his job soon.

* * *

The cauldron-thief, meanwhile, has decided that he does not want to get ill on top of having to carry a cauldron made of metal through a forest he does not in fact know the layout of all that well, and pulled the cauldron over his head to keep dry.

The stone he’s sitting on has proved to be an indispensable aid in that endeavour, as the rain can simply pour down to the sides of it and have Infortunatus’ feet remain as dry as possible in such a precarious position as his: he’s drawn his feet up to wrap his arms tightly around them and make himself as small as possible to fit into the opening of the cauldron.

Fortunately for him, that’s easy, since he’s not half as fat as his centurion is these days, so that works out marvellously, for the time being.

Until, that is, the downpour lets up some and the animals roaming the forest walk out of their hiding spots again to look for food. A few moments later, one of the wild boars has the bad fortune of stumbling across the two Gauls who found shelter underneath a tree coincidentally placed not three hundred meters away from him and, a glance exchanged between the two later, their priorities have momentarily shifted from “theft” to “food” – it is way too convenient an exchange to make, truly, when the boar is running _right_ past them – and they give chase and-

naturally, for what else would happen, what else _could_ happen, indeed-

they come to a baffled halt right in front of what appears to be a rather unorthodox way of setting up a cauldron.

With both Asterix and Obelix blinking twice in bemusement, first at each other, then at the scene in front of their very eyes, the brief silence is only broken by Dogmatix’ continuous barking as he’s standing right in front of the person in front of them that’s… wearing a cauldron, there is no two ways about it.

“Asterix, is that a new kind of animal?” Obelix asks, cautiously prodding at the thing they’re seeing with a proverbial stick, still holding his menhir with both hands in a familiar position behind his back. Readying himself for what promises to possibly be a situation in which he'll be needing both hands, he puts the big stone down besides an unassuming earthly mound.

“I doubt that’s an animal, Obelix.” Asterix responds, shifting his brain into gear and asking loudly enough to be heard in the small clearing, “Oi, you! Who are you?”

Dogmatix has stopped barking at his words and is by now growling at the cauldron thief.

* * *

Infortunatus is scared.

That’s-

That voice.

He’s heard that.

Heard that voice before.

A faint _“-EMME AT THEM-“_ goes through his mind and with it the memory of his knees knocking together in fright as they do at this very moment as well. That’s those Gauls, they’re here.

They’re _here_.

With him.

And there’s-

There’s obviously-

That cauldron is on his head.

It’s theirs, isn’t it, he’s stolen it and now-

Infortunatus is going to regret ever coming here, isn’t he?

With tears in his eyes, the only exit he can still see from his vantage point on top of the stone is to run away from them as fast as his shaking legs will carry him.

Of course he does that in the very next moment and is pushing off the stone-

The Roman soldier makes it exactly two steps before his legs get confused and stumble over a tiny thing that’s no bigger than his foot and-

He falls flat on his face to the ground, his head hitting the cauldron funnily and with as much force as to make the resounding “Bong!” resonate in his brain for way too long after the noise dissipated.

Letting himself flop down to the floor, he is resigned to his fate, just like he’s been from the start. This is no way to live life, is it, getting banged up by Gauls every other week – and this week twice, even! That’s why he offers no resistance whatsoever when the fat one lifts him up to have him dangle him from his hand by his foot.

“Join the Roman legion!” they said.

“It’ll be fun!” they said.

No one mentioned the freaking Gauls and their freaking strength.

Oh, Infortunatus could cry.

“What are you doing with that cauldron, Roman?” the little Gaul asks him.

Lethargically, he turns his head towards him to answer frankly, “Nothing. It’s not for me.”

He is _So. Done._ with the world at this point, he simply doesn’t care any longer.

Let him lose his pilum. Let him pay for it from his own pay. It’s not much anyways and to be honest, Infortunatus would give far more to leave the legion at this point in time than he would to stay.

All of a sudden, a strange light coming from a nearby mound – and oh, Infortunatus knows that mound, that’s not a good mound, oooooh no, – lightens up the clearing. Eyes wide, he hides them behind his hands. If he can’t see the being, he can’t be punished for not sticking to his end of the bargain, can he?

… waaait, the cauldron is right here, isn’t it?

A tiny bud of hope is opening up in his heart.

Opening his fingers somewhat, he chances a glance at his surroundings.

Can the pilum still be obtained or is it a lost cause?

Gulping, with his leg still held up in the hand of that freakishly strong Gaul, he slowly lets his arms dangle down towards the earth and asks more than states, “I- I brought you the cauldron you asked for?”

Pointing at the cauldron that’s still residing on the spot where he’s fallen down into it, he says with more confidence, more bravado infusing his trembling voice, “That’s the cauldron you wanted, isn’t it? There it is!”

The being smirks at him for all of a heart-stopping moment, the expression making him freeze in fright.

Then it frowns in displeasure when its gaze comes to rest on the cauldron.

Goosebumps travel all over his body.

This is _not good_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I managed to get them as in-character as possible! Let me know what you think, dear readers?
> 
> Hope you had fun reading this one~


	5. If found, please return to the Gaulish Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The… Gaul is arguing with the being.
> 
> That’s not something Infortunatus thought he’d ever think, but here we are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, folks! :D
> 
> As such, ready your cups of hot chocolate, cuddle up in a blanket or what-have-you aaaaaaaand enjoy a cookie or two as we follow alongside our heroes' trodden paths~
> 
> Have fun!

_Aud viam inveniam aut faciam_

_(I either find a way or I make one)_

* * *

The lightshow is unexpected, Asterix has to give whomever is doing this that, at least: they have _style_. Then again, after having appreciated it for all of the two seconds that it takes to get blinded by a stupid light shining brightly right into his eyes, he rubs them and shakes his head to get rid of the after-effects.

Grimacing, he opens them again, only for them to narrow as his sight slowly, little by little gets used to the brightly lit being that’s illuminated in front of them.

“Oi! Who do you think you are, coming here and disturbing all the wildlife like that?” is all he can think of to say for a moment there, while a headache is already vying for his attention. Asterix does not appreciate that having been inflicted upon him without any warning, thank you very much, and he’ll do his best to make his opinion known to whoever keeps doing this.

* * *

The… Gaul is arguing with the being.

That’s not something Infortunatus thought he’d ever think, but here we are.

The smaller Gaul, the blond one, has started up an argument with the being made of light that’s magic and pagan and oh, gods, will he ever get out of this alive?

But before he can work himself up into a proper anxiety spiral, he can feel how his body is turned right-side-up again and he’s set down on his (admittedly wobbly) legs that immediately threaten to give out from underneath him.

Wide-eyed, he shortly throws his eyes at the surprisingly gentle giant next to him, then back at the Gaul arguing with and – the little warrior is by now gesticulating widely to better illustrate his point and is ranting about how that cauldron theft is ruining a perfectly sane day and why in Toutatis’ name did that being think it prudent to haunt their forest of all the forests available and _it better rethink_ its decision to settle there and create trouble for them cause the Gauls won’t rest until it’s gone if they find out it’s _kept_ causing trouble after the first time and – rather inexplicably, Infortunatus is drawn into the Gaul’s way of thinking, finding himself nodding along with all the points that make sense to his mind, confused as it is at this point.

And then, the being, notably less illuminated now that Asterix – _Asterix! That is the Gaul’s name! Right, Infortunatus has to remember that_ – has given it the dressing down of a century.

He feels a little like he’s floating, on a cloud and a bit removed from the proceedings, when the being asks him again, “How far are you willing to go… for that pilum?”

Right – he. That pilum. Infortunatus is here for that pilum, that’s his first priority. Or is it?

His breath stutters and he doesn’t manage to get out any words at all, despite him opening and closing his mouth multiple times like a fish, frightened and afraid and _Oh. So. Done_ , for the moment.

Evidently, his exhaustion and confusion must be visible on his face, for Asterix answers in his stead, after a few more minutes pass them by, “One step.”

What? His brain has trouble catching up to the Gaul’s way of thinking.

“He’s willing to go one step further, for whatever pilum you’re talking about, and that’s that.”

It’s obvious that Asterix doesn’t care about the pilum. Infortunatus wishes he could be this blasé about his livelihood, his job, his salary. He wishes he could be this indifferent-

And then the Roman soldier’s eyes bulge out of his socket once his mind has finished processing the solution that the Gaul has come up with – that cannot under any circumstance be what the being has asked of him, can it?

No, there has to be some more, some higher magic involved, the solution cannot possibly be this easy, this simple to reach, this much of a no-brainer-

“All right.” the being says and his train of thoughts grinds to a complete halt. “Then go one step further, human, and you can have your pilum.” The thing says it with a smirk-grimace that can be _felt_ in the air, curling around them but still.

That’s.

That’s all?

That’s all he has to do?

There’s no way that’s all he has to do, is there?

Asterix is waving a hand in his direction, motioning for him to do it.

Perplexed, utterly flummoxed, he does as the Gaul has proposed and moves one step.

The pilum is thrust into the air in front of him, up for grabs, so to speak and-

He has no words for how much of a mind-blowing experience this was.

The Cauldron, the Gauls – the Gauls discovering him stealing the cauldron, the ease and speed with which the Gauls have seemingly _forgiven_ him for his theft once they heard of his reasons for doing that and-

Their willingness to help him, in the face of all of that.

That still throws him for a loop.

What on earth.

…

Maybe.

He licks his lip.

Maybe, he ought to-

That’s treason, though, no way-

No, but maybe he ought to hang his status as a soldier-

And maybe, maybe join the Gauls, if they’re- if they’re this nice, this willing-

This willing to help.

To help a Roman soldier like him, regardless of the circumstances.

The ex-guard tears up at the thought and he moves his arm so it’s over his eyes, to stem the tears from falling further, one hand clinging around his pilum – _when had he taken it from out of the air? Ah, didn’t matter_ – and sobs coming out of him, heaving from his body.

Their willingness to help only exacerbates his situation, doesn’t it?

No one back in the camp has helped him find his pilum.

No one even so much as batted a second eye, when he told them it’s not to be found anywhere.

The one who told him where he might’ve seen it go through the air right into the woods has told him that with a roll of his eyes.

His problem, isn’t it, if his pilum’s lost?

His salary the money comes out of.

His to look for and replace.

His, his, his.

But.

The Gauls.

They didn’t think like that.

“I’m sorry,” he says, in lieu of anything better suited to the situation.

Snot is dirtying his sleeve. His shoulders are shaking. He’s still sobbing.

The smaller one – _Asterix!_ – is moving towards him and saying “Oi, hey? You okay?” and putting a hand on his shoulder and-

It’s the last straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Infortunatus all at once turns straight towards him and starts using the Gaul’s shoulder as a cushion as he cries his heart out on it, getting small pats on his back in return for the outburst. The Roman soldier cannot recall when the last time was that he got to have that and savours it, tries to commit the feeling to memory and- lets go.

It takes a long time until he’s halfway verbal again and doesn’t need a shoulder to cry on anymore.

* * *

There’s murmuring. Obviously, the Gauls have been conferring with one another, while he’s been out of it (been crying his lungs out on top of his heart), and. They’ve made their way to the Gallic village by then, although the way there is a blur to him, and entered the chieftain’s house.

The Gaulish chieftain on top of his chair is- a sight to behold, truly.

Infortunatus has never been this scared before, not even during inspections.

Their druid is turning to him, absent-mindedly stroking his own beard, deep in thought.

“I suppose it’s worth a try to ask, isn’t it? You’ve proven exceptional at the procuration of an item desired by a third party, after all. Exactly how well-versed are you in the art of herb-plucking?”

Herb-what?

Wide-eyed, he only stares at the white-bearded man.

Infortunatus is doing that a lot lately, the staring at people until their actions make sense to him.

(It’s not helping much, but what exactly has been helping him lately?)

(At this point he’s just glad not to land on the menu of the evening banquet happening later)

(There’s going to be a feast thrown just because he’s here and wants to become a Gaul and he’s still not over that)

There’s little that can make him become verbal again, at this point in time. Infortunatus – no, he’s Infelix now, Infelix is his new name, he’s gotta remember that, at least – Infelix is simply staring at the druid until he takes the hint.

“Ah, no matter, I can show you the ropes, so to speak.” Turning towards the village chief – Vitalstatistix, his name’s Vitalstatistix! –, the druid announces, “I’ll take him on as an assistant, starting now.” Under his breath, Infelix hears him mutter, “Can’t be worse than the last one was.” And turns shocked eyes on him for that – has he turned the last one into a frog? Will the same fate play out for him, should he make a mistake? Will he be returned to that creepy being made of light? Will he at least be allowed to keep his pilum?

Being ushered out of the chieftain’s house with increasingly anxious thoughts running through his head, he’s met with the sunny rays of a cloud-free day and he holds up a hand to shield his eyes from the glare. What a weather, these days!

The sun’s going down soon, as far as he can discern, and his shoulders untense on their own. There’s going to be a banquet thrown for him later.

A banquet, for him.

Infelix thinks he can get used to this.

“You coming?” the druid prompts him, having taken several steps forward already while he’s been lost in thought.

Infelix finds himself nodding. It’s seems like a fairytale, almost. The food’s better than the one they got to eat back at the camp, although the musical accompaniment could use some improvement.

Maybe he’ll come to like it in this part of the world, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it, dear readers - and especially you, dear BookGirlFan! :D  
> That was an interesting challenge and I had a _blast_ devising a mystery that could hold people's attention for this long of a story~
> 
> Also: [this website](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Asterix_characters#Major_recurring_characters) has caused more than one bout of confusion during the writing period... English is NOT my first language, folks, phew, _**why**_ do those names have to be DIFFERENT in other languages??? XD
> 
> (I did plan for around 8k-ish words from the start, particularly since I wanted to provide you with a well-structured and _awesomely_ fleshed-out tale to devour around Christmas-time)
> 
> (I did _NOT_ intend for this to be written within the four days that it took to write it, buuuuut procrastination being the random affliction that it is... well.)
> 
> (Suffice to say: lots of cookies were munched on and no boars were harmed during this story's production)

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks go to [sinkauli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinkauli/) for beta-ing this fanfic of mine!
> 
> How did you like it?
> 
> If you have the time for it and are in the mood for it, I wouldn't mind a comment or two? :D


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